Sylar

Sylar puts his hands to his temples, trying to massage away the lingering pain from trying to read Arthur's mind. It helps, albeit marginally, and he makes a mental note not to try that again before moving to take a seat in one of the chairs Arthur had offered them. Between his inability to read Arthur's mind and the idea that he might lose everything he's worked so hard for over the last few years in an instant, he suddenly doesn't like this much.

"What?"